Stiles’ boyfriend is a
“Derek,” Stiles says, careful to keep his voice soft and tender. “You have to go outside at one point, it’s not like you can just live in this house forever without ever going outside.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I can.”
“Your mom is worried about you,” Stiles says, urgently, eyes maybe going a little bit crazy. “She’s sending me letters , Derek, letters . Letters about how I’m soon going to have to leash you and drag you outside.”
Derek looks unimpressed. “You do that anyway.”
Stiles throws his hands up, exasperated. “You’re in your wolf form! That doesn’t even count, dude.”
“It’s not my fault you don’t accept my preferred form of valued lifestyle.” Derek says, sounding petulant.
Derek always sounds petulant, though.
"She told me if I don't get you outside in human form with in the month that she's going to contemplate castration."
Derek doesn't even look regretful , he just smirks.
"I can't tell if she was kidding or not." Silence. "Or if she's talking about you or me."
"She was talking about you," Derek replies, bluntly.
And Stiles--Stiles is choosing to ignore that. Derek's mother is a sweet woman who wouldn't dare try to harm him, right?
“You’re a werewolf, Derek, a
. And you’re a hermit, in absolutely no situation is that funny, or accepted,” Stiles is--
Stiles is squeaking . Because Stiles is very, very upset.
He’s just tired. Not of Derek, though, never of Derek. Derek’s actually sort of amazing when you look past his Forrest-Gump style beard and his white Jesus toga, and his stupid, Tom flats that he refuses to take off (“Dude,” Stiles had said when he had first seen them, “You don’t even go outside , how do you have Toms?” And Derek had simply stared at him, long and hard before whispering, quite passionately. “Internet.”). So, as it turns out, it’s not that Stiles has a problem with his boyfriend, because he didn’t, and on most days, he was even okay with the whole hermit thing. Sure, it kind of annoyed him that his boyfriend never wanted to go outside, and that he had this vendetta against easy-access boxers, but hey, nobody’s perfect.
Stiles has accepted that.
It’s okay, anyway, Stiles think. He’s not asking his boyfriend to change, because he would never do that--even though he kind of is, asking Derek to change, now, but they both know that he doesn't mean it. Stiles would never mean it because he knows how much Derek loves it.
He just wishes he could. Seriously ask Derek to change, sometimes.
Because it would make Stiles’ life easier.
And it would probably make the cameramen who lurk across their front lawn all of the time go the fuck away--apparently a twenty-seven year old, twelve-year veteran hermit is top story news level material in Beacon Hills, like more top story news than that woman who burned her own house down because she thought that would be a resourceful and totally healthy use of a Friday night. They’re always around, trying to get a picture of Derek, or a picture of Derek’s beard, or maybe even a picture of anything other than the front of the house and Stiles leaving said front of house (he could see the article now, if it happens, really “Bummified Writer and Self-Proclaimed Hermit Finally Reveals Himself After Twelve Years of Emotional and Physical Solitude From Everyone but Boyfriend and Mother”).
But yeah, Derek is actually awesome. Alarmingly awesome. So awesome that sometimes Stiles doesn't even know how he got him, especially when all Stiles does is complain about Derek and his stupid infatuation with his computer. Stiles doesn't know how he held on to Derek--maybe it was because there weren't too many people okay with the idea that Derek centered his life around, or maybe it was because of the whole werewolf thing. It was probably becaue of the whole werewolf thing, because, yeah, it's not like Stiles took it exactly well either. He's pretty sure he suffered a connpition, one that Derek couldn't even take him to the hospital for, so Derek's mom had to take him. That had been...interesting.
So, maybe sometimes Derek smokes pot when he can’t get high (“It helps me think,” Derek said when Stiles had asked him about it, which made no sense whatsoever, because werewolves can’t even get high , “it helps me free my mind from the generalized social norms that constrict our society,” because Derek was opinionated and liked to throw his opinions in Stiles' face), and he adamently refuses to wash his clothes on any day other than a Wednesday, and sometimes he still requires Stiles to tie him up on full moon nights, even though he's compeltely mastered control, but that doesn't mean Stiles is ashamed of him, really.
Even with the beard.
But, Derek is infuriating, really.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Derek says, suddenly, snapping Stiles from his thoughts.
“What, contemplating suicide?” Stiles remarks, dryly.
Derek just glares at him, and sighs, exasperated, like Stiles is the most infuriating person ever. Well, hah, Stiles knows that's not true. Derek has to know how utterly maddening he is sometimes. “Where you ignore my brilliance and pretend to be doing something better instead.” Which is a crock of bullshit, because he's pretty sure Derek wasn't even talking.
Stiles rolls with it, anyway.
Sometimes, Stiles likes to indulge him (and by sometimes, Stiles means all of the time, because, well, he's sort of a dick--even to Derek...especially to Derek).
“Maybe I wouldn’t ignore your brilliance if you decided to introduce yourself to the sun,” Stiles snaps, but there’s no real heat. “You’re starting to approach Cullen level paleness, dude. I’m pretty sure I even see some glitter on you.”
Derek actually shifts in his seat. “I may have played with glitter this morning.”
“Wow, I-- dude , I don’t even know what to say.”
“It was a freeing experience.”
Stiles makes an idle mental note to recheck on the whole 'werewolves can't never get high' thing, because Derek's bringing light to some new evidence. Loads of new evidence, actually.
It’s actually not that bad.
Stiles is usually just being dramatic, because it’s not like Derek’s a bad boyfriend or anything, it’s just that he’s a hermit and it’s taken a while to adjust to, to adjust to how they can’t randomly, spontaneously go out on dates because Derek will never want to, how Stiles always has to do the grocery shopping alone (or with Derek’s mom, but he doesn’t mind those trips so much; Mrs. Hale is
and bakes startingly delicious cookies--Derek always is happier on the days his mother brings them those) because Derek barely ever leaves his damn desk, as he’s too busy writing novels to add to his already pretty hefty ‘works written’ list.
It’s not something that actively bothers him, not something that he sits over and mulls over, because being a hermit doesn't define Derek, it's just a part of him. A seriously aggravating part, that sometimes Stiles wants to slaughter, but it's a part and if Stiles didn't love him for it then he'd obviously be doing something wrong. It’s just something that strikes out at him when he least expects it. Like when he got an invitation to Scott and Allison’s wedding and he couldn’t take his fucking boyfriend because he didn’t believe in going outdoors unless he was furry--that was a conversation awkward enough that Stiles never wanted to relive again. Or when his father invites him back home and tells him to bring along Derek, but he has to make up some bullshit excuse about how Derek’s home sick with the flu, listens to his father’s scandalized bantering about how Stiles should’ve stayed too.
It’s something he can live with, something he likes about Derek even though he never thought he would.
Stiles just gets annoyed, sometimes.
Stiles can always tell when Derek wants to go outside because his wolf starts going crazy.
He’ll get more cuddly than usual, will whine and lick and nip at Stiles’ skin when they’re lying in bed together, post-coital or just enjoying each other’s company. Stiles always just sighs with it, laughs into the skin of Derek’s neck and pats Derek’s hips as a signal to follow him.
Derek always does.
That’s how he knows, too.
The thing is, Derek has to go outside because his wolf needs space to roam, to run free without any of the constricting boundaries that being locked in a house gives him. Derek affords it that much, probably because the wolf would get pretty unbearable otherwise, and Derek gets more angry, a little meaner when his wolf is on edge, constantly scratching at the edges of Derek’s skin.
So, Stiles takes him out.
“You ready to go out, Sourwolf?” Stiles asks, just like he always does, and isn’t surprised when Derek scowls at him. So, Derek in his wolf form kind of looks like a bitchy toddler, and Stiles happened to notice.
Derek doesn’t say anything though, he never does, just simply--
Stiles always collars and leashes him, because even though they live out in the woods, there are always cameramen outside of their door, and subjecting them to Derek without a leash is apparently the ultimate sin--they’d once gotten a fine for Derek charging at one of them, and granted, that was on their part, but they should stay the fuck off of their lawn, anyway--and the fight is more than it’s worth.
Stiles leashes him until they’re out of sight of the photographers, until they lose interest with the mystery dog that Derek and Stiles have and go off somewhere else, probably to see if they can sneak any shots through the window on an unsuspecting Derek. Which, of course, will never happen, but Stiles doesn’t bother to tell them it’s not worth their time.
“C’mon,” Stiles says, pulling Derek through the men, who, he inevitably keeps growling at.
Did Stiles mention Derek hates people?
Derek definitely hates people.
Derek’s never talked about the Reasons He Decided to Become a Hermit but he definitely thinks that’s one of them, maybe. Or maybe it’s a subcategory of a much larger reason, but it had a part, Stiles knows. Derek doesn’t talk much of anything about his hermit-status, only comments on it when Stiles pushes too far.
And even then, he doesn’t give Stiles much to go off of.
It used to bother Stiles, but now he's actually kind of glad, because it seems like a dark spot and he knows Derek's dark spots are pretty awful.
They end up stopping in a meadow.
“Derek,” Stiles groans, “I don’t know why you’re so fascinated with fucking Twilight but can we stop being parallel to that universe?”
He’s met with a blank stare.
“It’s not cute anymore.”
“You, could, you know, say something .”
An unimpressed look, now.
“Right. You’re a wolf, now. I forgot.”
Derek bites at his face, but he can tell it’s affectionate, so he laughs, laughs, laughs.
“I wish I could be better for you,” Derek whispers, that night when he thinks Stiles is asleep, or maybe he knows he’s awake and is pretending to think so.
He thinks it’s probably the latter.
“I wish I could be what you wanted.”
When Stiles wakes up in the morning, he presses a reassurance into Derek’s hip, one that says, “You’re everything I need.”
Because sure, Derek will always be Derek: infuriating, introverted and hermit-y, but those were the things that Stiles liked the best about him. He likes that Derek’s eccentric and opinionated and writes too much for his own good, he likes that Derek doesn’t budge on his beliefs and while some might say it’s selective stubbornness, he thinks it’s just Derek .
Refusing to get too sappy and Nicholas Sparks romance level extreme, Stiles whispers, “get up, Sourwolf, and I’ll take out to use the bathroom.”
Derek growls at him, and smacks him across the face for his troubles.
But it’s totally worth it, because when twists up to kiss Stiles on the mouth, morning breath and all, the tension is gone. He nibbles and licks at Stiles’ lips, covering Stiles’ body with his own. Stiles’ breath comes out a little faster, not like he can exactly help it, because he knows what this means.
Derek wants to go outside again.
Derek’s never gone out two days in a row before.
Stiles doesn’t know why, but it fills him up with hope, maybe because Derek will try to go outside, again, while he’s human . Not for Stiles, but for himself.